


Trinket No. 39

by JemDragons



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemDragons/pseuds/JemDragons
Summary: Trinket No. 39: An empty glass vial that smells of perfume when opened.Or "That Time Sapic Went Apeshit and No One Knows Why."
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: A Ballad of Seas and Ships





	Trinket No. 39

**Author's Note:**

> Sapic is a tortle monk,  
> Den is a half-elf artificer,  
> Zevas is a human blood hunter,  
> Barace is a lizardfolk wizard,  
> Varick is a kobold druid.

We’re fighting a big bastard this time. Ugly too. I swear something is going on in this crazy continent – first rat-shifters and hags, then gnolls and now this? This place is cursed or something.

I dodge out of the way of the orc's fist and it shatters the ground beneath me, sending shards in my direction. I shield my face with my arms and don't see the second attack before it _slams_ into my shell, knocking the breath out of me and nearly pushing me over.

The pain radiating from my back is _staggering_ and I spend a few moments gasping, trying to recover as the sounds of battle continue around me. 

Is my shell bent? It’s not, right? Because that would be _bad._ That would be Night Hag levels of hurt and this time Jewel isn’t here to bail me out. 

I open my eyes and squint up at the orc, panting heavily.

He looks down at me and _smirks!_ That little _shit!_

His oversized mouth struggles open past his boar-like tusks and he leans over me.

“Not so tough now, little turtle.”

His breath washes over my face and I fight the urge to punch him. It smells bad, like rotting flesh and old dung and it’s _warm_ and _damp_ and I can barely breathe through it.

Oh I am going to _enjoy_ smashing his head in later.

From our right, an _ear-rending_ noise and another orc is pushed backwards, hitting this one in the side. Thunderwave, probably. Fucking Den and their loud-ass spells. Fuck _me._

The orc, not as used to the sound as I am, turns to look.

Excellent.

My two astral arms reach upwards to his head and dart forward in blows aimed to kill.

The first misses as he leans over and it whistles past his head, catching on his hair but doing no damage. The second is going to get him right in his _stupid face!_

I feel the impact through my ki and I grin in success, opening my mouth to sass back at him. See how he likes that! 

But as I look up something doesn’t feel right. He’s not as...hurt-looking as I expected him to be.

I retract my astral arms back over my head to get a better view and he- That _bastard!_ He blocked it with his hand! That’s not allowed! This is _bullshit!_

He lets out a deep chuckle, at my outraged face no doubt, and grins ear to ear.

“My turn.”

Before I can react a fist drives into my front, the force of it lifting my body slightly off the ground, and another heads towards my face.  
I turn to dodge it but- _wait that means it’s gonna hit by my throat **FUCK-**_

Something _shatters._

I stumble backwards – I can still breathe thankfully. He missed my neck, thank the gods. If that had caught my throat it probably would’ve killed me.

I glance down at myself to survey the damage. 

Strangely, it doesn’t hurt as much at that last hit did, although- Is that _glass?_

I pick a shard out from under my shell and it stings as it exits the tiny wound it made under my scales.

Yeah, that’s glass. 

Is that, like, some weird orc punch magic thing? Do they punch glass shards at people? That’s a pretty useless attack-

_Wait._

_No..._

_No no no no no gods please if you have any love for me no please fuck no PLEASE-_

I drop my combat position – this is more important – and I use both hands to pull the glass shards from my shoulder. It’s tricky because I can’t get a hold of them because _my hands are shaking_ and there’s another one and another one and then a _cord._ Strung around my neck, still holding the cork of the vial and I breathe in and that smell - the _oleander_ and the _nightshade_ and the _almonds_ and the _foxglove_ and the-

“Hey, Sapic...?”

Barace, little Barace, ever the observant one. Of course she'd notice first, even if she’s across the room. 

The world is warped and wobbly and watery and for a moment it takes up my whole vision before it clears again.

From in front of me, “Aww, did I made the widdle turtle cry?”

_He’s..._

_He’s the one...who did this..._

_He..._

With each breath I can feel her getting further, further away, disappearing into the air like a memory into time.

_He...did this..._

I grip my hands into fists, uncaring that it means they get sliced up by glass.

_He did this..._

I look up at him, a huge green orc, but all I see are _snakes._

_**“I...am going to KILL YOU.”** _

* * *

They smack their hands together, creating an impossibly loud sound that pushes the orc back. Good. That'll give ‘em some time to think.

A glance over at Barace shows she's still okay, smartly stayin’ at range and snipin’ with her magic. They feel bad that she’s here – even Beaumont the _Shifty as Fuck_ didn’t let kids that young onto the battlefield. Jesus. But Barace is smart and she’s capable and they ain’t sure if she’d let ‘em keep her out of fights at this point even if they tried. They’ve just gotta keep her safe.

She’s...frownin'? It’s hard to tell from this distance and the scratched goggles protectin’ their eyes doesn’t help much. Is she okay? Has she been hurt?

**_“I...am going to KILL YOU.”_ **

They whip around in the direction Barace was lookin' and see...

Gods...

She’s lost it...

They knew it would happen eventually – folks like Sapic ain't as tough as they think they are. Not by a long shot.

But...

Oh Jesus.

They knew she was murder-happy but never thought they’d see her like this.

_**“I’ll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! Die! Die! DIE!!”** _

She looks rabid, foamin’ at the mouth, and with each word she steps and swings wildly with her magicky arms. The orc catches her fists in his hands and leans down to grin at her but rather than lettin' him she wraps her normal arms around his neck and pulls them down just as she aims her face towards 'im.

They cringe as her beak skewers his eye.

Blood and fluids burst from it and run down her mouth but she doesn’t seem to care, grippin' him by the neck as he instinctively pulls away and using that to lift herself high enough for a headbutt.

The orc lets go of her magic arm to hold his face and Den knows this is the end of it.  
As Sapic _screams,_ her giant skeletal hand wraps around the orc's head and shoves him down with violence they've never seen from her. 

It hits the ground hard and the visceral _crack_ of his skull breakin' open echoes through the now quiet chamber.

They can hear Barace gasp and cringe at the sound and they once again wish she weren’t here to see this. 

That’s the end of it, then. 

They turn to the orc they’d pushed back, ready to assist Sapic in killin' this one as well, but another crack reaches their ears and another and another and a _squelch_ and they think they’re gonna be sick.

Sapic is still _screamin',_ incomprehensible words, and _sobbin’_ and her magical arms are _crushin'_ and _twistin'_ and _mutilatin'_ this dead body until it’s naught but _gore_ on the ground and she _still won’t stop._

They glance at Barace, who has both hands over her mouth, shakin' and openly cryin'.

Another look over to the opposite end of the chamber sees Zevas, his normally smug smirk nowhere on his face. They make eye contact and he seems as lost and shocked as they are.

Varick is nowhere to be found and they assume he saw Sapic go _apeshit_ and just _left._ Honestly not a bad idea.

Gods this is gonna be up to them, isn’t it? _Christ._

The orc they'd pushed recovers from the shock first and goes to attack but Sapic's magic arm blocks the hit without even lookin', the other one continuin' its mission to cover the floor in as much blood as possible.

The orc looks confused and concerned and takes a step back.

Den doesn’t miss the opportunity.

They load a bolt to their crossbow and fire, gettin’ a lucky hit right in the side of the neck. 

Blood spurts out as the orc pulls the bolt away and looks down at it. He takes a step towards them, grunting out a _“Why...you!”_ before his legs give out and he falls to the ground.

They run forward, ignorin' him entirely, and stop just at the edge of Sapic's bloodbath.

A keenin' cry hits their ears as she curls in on herself, holdin' her hands to her chest and retchin'. Her magic arms disappear into the ether and she _wails._ Tears mix with blood as they run rivers down her face.

_Jesus Christ, Sapic... Oh_ _gods... Oh my gods, Sapic..._

In the far end of the chamber, Zevas finishes off the last orc. 

No one celebrates. 

He finds Varick on his way over, draggin' him kickin' and screamin' from behind a rock as everyone gathers around the tortle. He makes eye contact with Den as if to say “Go on, do something about this,” and Den wants to _scream._

They rest their hand awkwardly on the rim of Sapic’s shell and give it a little pat.

After a few minutes of nothing, she turns to them and they ain’t ashamed to admit they jumped a little.

They crouch down so they’re both on an equal level but they keep a comfortin' hand on her shell. 

She doesn’t say anything and neither do they. They don’t know what to say. 

They sit like that in the pool of coolin’ blood for a while, until Den's legs start to burn and their arm starts to cramp and Zevas and Varick have dragged Barace away to the other side of the room. They’re grateful to them for distractin' her. 

Sapic raises her head, finally, and the _agony_ in her reptilian expression is plain as day. She shudders and her breath stutters and rasps and for a moment she looks like she’s going to lose her composure again but she closes her eyes and it passes.

“Hey, Sapic...”

They had decided they were brave enough to ask but...maybe not just now. 

“Can you stand?” They ask instead.

She nods quietly.

“We're goin’ to stand up now. Can you do that with me?”

There’s a pause, and for a moment Den's legs scream that if they spend much longer in this position they shouldn’t expect to have legs anymore, before Sapic nods again.

The relief that floods Den's brain and the blood that floods Den's toes as they stand are both borderline euphoric.

They crack their back and stretch their arms and groan about being older than they used to be.

They expect a comment back about how redundant the statement was but...nothing. She’s standin', sure, but she’s not payin' any attention, off in her own world again.

Jesus Christ.

Seein' Sapic standin', Zevas leads Barace and Varick over to the door, noddin' appreciatively at Den on the way out. They nod back.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, they take Sapic by the elbow and guide her towards the exit.

* * *

She’s silent throughout the whole journey. They walk with a bubble of space between her and anyone else because they want to help but they don’t know how and it’s awkward. 

Small conversations pick up between them on their way back but nothing substantial. It’s empty noise and all of them know it.

They wash down in the river before heading into town so they aren’t arrested or something and Barace notices some glass shards stuck in Sapic's hands. They take a step forward to offer to fix them but, almost like she knew what they were going to say, she jerks them back towards her chest again and hisses menacingly in their direction. They decide to leave it be.

* * *

They go straight to the tavern when they return to civilization, eager to see Sapic acting like herself again even if it means bribing her with alcohol.

Zevas enters first, heading straight to the barkeep with false cheer and asking for their most expensive bottle.

The barkeep looks him up and down and raises their eyebrows but heads to the back anyway.

Fifty gold pieces later he returns, triumphant and full of the smug belief that _he has solved the problem._ He presents the bottle to Sapic the same way he presents the heads of monsters to his guildmaster – quickly and with little fanfare more than a lingering look of “See what I did? I'm the _best.”_

She looks at it and she looks at him and she looks at everyone in the bar.

She opens her mouth and he beams, waiting for her to accept it with her usual bravado and maybe he’ll even let her have that drinking rematch this time and-

_“...I’m going to bed...”_

She walks past him, trudging up the stairs without even stopping to pay for a room.  
The barkeep looks at him, alarmed, and he waves off their worry with a smile before turning, stonefaced, to the group.

If alcohol doesn’t work, what will? 

He ends up giving the bottle to Varick, as they all sit solemn at the table. Varick is very appreciative after the hard day he's had and he makes quick work of it before staggering to the barkeep and paying for his room.

If he happens to give exactly enough to cover Sapic's stay as well, well, he’s drunk and he can’t count so how’s he to meant to know? _Shaddup._

* * *

Oleander. It’s a flower – beautiful to look at, but poisonous. It won’t kill you (probably) but it'll incapacitate you until long after we've left you lying by the side of the road. It’s looks so innocent and pure, like a gift for a loved one on the anniversary of a special day.

She always smelled of oleander. 

We’re running through the muggy swampland of my home, through the jungle branches that are so long ago but oh so familiar. 

My companion laughs, childlike, because we _are_ just children, the two of us, really.

We play, sliding down the hill on my shell, over roots and bumps that send us flying through the air. 

The roots hiss at us in the old tongue and we hiss back and it’s all in good fun because hissing never hurts anyone. 

The roots hiss and the vines constrict and the tree trunks are thick, sloping bodies that surround us again and again and again, ever closer, ever tighter.

We don’t notice, busy in our own world, but _I_ notice and I see the eyes and I smell the foxglove and the wolfsbane and the nightshade and I _scream_ but we play. 

She looks at me and she smiles and maybe she _did_ notice because I smell oleander and see her face but I can’t – it’s blurred and fuzzy and shifting – and she speaks but it’s all hissing and I can’t understand it and she _leaves_ me and she’s _gone._

The snakes are a forest once more but I'm _alone_ and she’s _gone_ and all I have is oleander.

I open my eyes. It’s the middle of the night and the moon is high, high in the sky. 

I remember watching it with her. I remember watching it fall. We thought the world was ending, huddled up beneath the trees with the little pink flowers. Strange how now, so many years later, the moon is here but I am _falling._

Gods I miss her. I miss her so much.

I go to wrap my hands around the vial but my hands are glass and the vial is gone and I feel about as hollow.

Without thinking, really, I head to the room Den and Barace stayed in last night before we went orc hunting. 

A knock on the door, quiet less out of hospitality than lack of mental energy, and Den's exhausted face meets me.

_“Hi...”_

I trail off almost before I begin and they let me. I head to leave – I can’t deal with this, not right now – but a hand grasps my arm.

“Barace...told me about your hands. She’s mighty worried about you. May I?”

I let them pull me into the room. 

It’s dark. I can’t see much more than myself and Den here but I can hear Barace’s sleeping form in the corner.

We sit down on Den's bed. 

“She cried herself to sleep y'know,” they mention, almost conversationally, as they pull the glass from my palms.

I cringe.

_“Same...”_

The limited light of the room reflects in their eyes as they look at me. There’s a critical air to them, but caring as well. 

“You gave us a mighty scare there. Don’t do that again.”

I'm sorry...

I don’t say it out loud but they seem to understand anyway.

“You alright now?”

It doesn’t even takes thought to answer that. Almost before they finish speaking I answer them. 

_“No..._ _No I'm not...”_

“Well that’s okay,” they tell me as the last of the shards come loose and they cast Cure Wounds, “Neither am I.”

We sit in silence for a while, listening to Barace sleep. 

_“Could you...?”_ I ask, _“Could you do that Mending thing you do...? On that glass?”_

They look surprised.

“Sure. Why?”

I close my eyes. 

_“It was just...very important to me.”_

I can tell they're putting the pieces together in their mind and they look like they’re _this_ close to yelling at me for scaring them like that over nothing but an empty glass vial but they hold their tongue. Probably more to avoid waking Barace than out of concern for me, but that’s alright. 

They cast their spell and return the vial to me. 

I hold it to my nose and breathe deeply.

Nothing.

No oleander. No nightshade or foxglove, no almonds. 

_Nothing._

I wouldn’t expect it to but... It _hurts._ Oh, how it hurts. 

_“I want to go home...”_

I didn’t expect to say it but it’s true. I want to go home. Back to the swamp and the jungle and the algae and the snakes and the oleander. _Gods. Gods,_ I want to go home.

Den looks at me, I think, and ponder.

“We can do that,” they say. “After we get our reward here and find Rauva we can absolutely visit your home. Where is it? I'll try and factor it in on the maps.”

I turn in their direction and smile sadly, woefully. 

It takes them a moment but... “Oh.”

I look down at the vial in my hands.

_“I’ll take my leave when we’re done. I- I'm bad at goodbyes...”_

They don’t know what to say, so instead they rest their hand on the back of my shell – the same place they held yesterday – and shake their head quietly in the darkness.

“It’ll be a different place without you,” they eventually tell me. 

I smile sadly again, _“I know... But you'll be fine. You'll manage. It’s for the best anyway... I’m..._ _I kind_ _of lost it there and... Barace shouldn’t have...seen that..._ _I think_ _it would_ _be a_ _different place even if_ _I stayed_. _It’s better that_ _I go.”_

They nod but it's a little shaky.

Slowly, I reach around and envelope them in a hug.

_“Den... Thank you...for helping me.”_

They return the hug after a moment of surprise.

“Of course, Sapic. Anytime.” 

After a moment we part ways and I head downstairs, leaving them to sleep. 

I order a drink for the road and head off south, towards the heat and the swamp and the snakes and the oleander.

_Home._

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about what would happen if my character, Sapic, lost the last remaining link she has to her life partner in any of our sessions and I just needed to write it down.


End file.
